I don't know who told me. I--I got the impression." He almost
stammered. "I must have misunderstood."
She meditated.
"It sounds awfully like Papa. He simply can't believe, poor thing,
that I'd stick to anything so respectable."
"Hah!" He laughed out his contempt for the Vicar. He had forgotten
that he too had wondered.
"Chuck it, Gwenda," he said, "chuck it."
"I can't," she said. "Not yet. It's too lucrative."
"But if it makes you seedy?"
"It doesn't. It won't. It isn't hard work. Only----" She broke off.
"It's time for you to go."
"Steve! Steve!"
Rowcliffe's youngest cousin was calling from the study window.
"Come along. Mary's ready."
"All right," he shouted. "I'm coming."
But he stood still there at the end of the orchard under the gray
wall.
"Good-bye, Steven."
Gwenda put out her hand.
He held her with his troubled eyes. He did not see her hand. He saw
her eyes only that troubled his.
"I say, is it very beastly?"
"No. Not a bit. You must go, Steven, you must go."
"If I'd only known," he persisted.
They were going down the path now toward the house.
"I wouldn't have let you----"
"You couldn't have stopped me."
(It was what she had always said to all of them.)
She smiled. "You didn't stop me going, you know."
"If you'd only told me--"
She smiled again, a smile as of infinite wisdom. "Dear Steven, there
was nothing to tell."
They had come to the door in the wall.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266